Rushes
The final week of the semester looms, when the remaining deadlines, decisions, and deliverables threaten the revelry of a dwindling college era. Cooper had not been bothered lately to focus on anything with serious and persistent implications. As school came closer to close, only the relationships seemed important, the one remaining constant after receiving his degree.
Determined to spend his last days on campus drinking with his friends, creating new memories while reminiscing on old ones, Cooper had been staying out every night until the brink of collapse from exhaustion. Making a conscious choice to sleep seemed wasteful and defeatist when the remaining days were numbered. “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” became his mantra.
Whatever future life he could imagine appeared predictable, monotonous, whereas college was a realm of proliferating opportunity. The final assignments and administrative tasks felt like harbingers of change, and he wanted no part of that. They’d get done when they’d get done. Life would precipitate change on its own accord soon enough. There was always time, especially now more than ever.
The Kairos Project had headlined the news for a couple months now. What began as a rumor about new pharmaceutical research was now the pervasive topic of almost every conversation. And how couldn’t it be? Often compared to similar scientific feats like the Manhattan and Apollo projects, the Kairos Project was being heralded as the first tangible, modern miracle, one that took the form of a new drug, one that could alter and increase the experience of time.
After the drug received FDA approval, reports emerged that American manufacturing hadn’t been mobilized to such an extent since World War II. The big pharmaceutical companies were eager to put their new product in front of consumers. After decades of investment, they were looking to collect their returns. Time was going to be available for purchase.
However, the distribution of this chronological panacea had been postponed by the courts. The major corporations contributing to the project were locked in legal battles over terms of the deal. Each seemed to think they deserved a bigger cut of the profits. Activist groups lobbied the government to ban the drugs from public use. They argued that the science had moved impossibly fast, and the long term effects of the drug hadn’t been studied. A large conservative portion of these constituents worried that to alter time was to challenge God, an accusation the corporations wore with pride.
The drug took effect in two phases, colloquially known as the wait and the rush. First, the wait describes the user’s slowed perception of reality as the drug increases their relative rate of experience in the universe. The user’s internal clock quickens, becoming out of sync and faster than everyone else. To the subject, this effect causes their surroundings to appear slowed due to their accelerated perception and movement through time compared to the unafflicted. Inversely, the rush describes the opposite effect. The consumer’s own rate of experience becomes drastically slowed and the world rushes around them. The altered rates of experience are both inverse and proportional, so at the end of the trip everyone returns to the same point in time.
Cooper peered down at the three pills in his hand, resourceful as he was he’d been able to secure an advance shipment. Little yin and yangs of red and green which unlocked the mechanisms of the universe. The colors’ significance was not lost on him, a stop and a go, a wait and a rush. He couldn’t help but think of them as Christmas presents, and what a gift time was.
He recalled his meeting with Brand earlier that morning when he picked up the drug. Nervous about the impending and steadfast deadlines imposed by his professors, Cooper had been relieved by his friend’s ability to pull through.
“Holy shit dude, I can’t believe you actually got your hands on them. These are straight from the Kairos project?” He had asked Brand.
“Yessir. I was lucky to grab ‘em too. A buddy of mine just got a job at one of the new distribution plants they built. With all the controversies happening they’ve been asked not to ship their supply, but the manufacturers haven’t stopped production so the plants are becoming a logistical nightmare. Apparently it wasn’t too bad for him to snatch a box. If you hadn’t kept me posted with the news, I never would’ve thought to ask him.”
Brand was smart, but like many dealers he acted passively and without initiative. He ran himself a solid drug operation by college standard, but these Kairos pills were next level contraband. Their current transaction was the result of weeks of Cooper pestering Brand to get his hands on some. Once Cooper had heard about the Kairos project rumors, he made sure to keep Brand privy to it. The new drug was invaluable to Cooper. It would allow him to successfully complete academic and professional obligations without sacrificing the experience of all the late nights that persisted in the glory of college memories. He was buying time at the point in his life he considered most precious.
“Hey man I told ya. As soon as I heard the news about the FDA approval, I knew they’d have to start moving somewhere… I’m so glad you snagged some, we still good on $75?”
Brand obliged and passed him three of the pills. “Hey Coop,” he started, “I gotta say, be careful with these things man. They’re new, I wouldn’t fuck around him them.”
“You know me, when do I ever fuck around?”
“You always fuck around, that’s why I’m telling you. You’ve been doing the most lately so just ease in with these. There’s a lot we still don’t know about ‘em. They were greenlit in record time and now all those big pharma heads and government employees have suddenly been quiet on the news lately after all these weeks of parading around…”
But it was impossible for Cooper to listen. He looked at the pills wide eyed and in each saw precious hours given back to him by the grace of modern science.
“ … they’re trying to reclassify the OD’s, they keep saying they’re ‘flickering’ but nobody has seen these guys and…” Brand stopped. “Hey man are you even listening to me, I’m being serious.”
Cooper came out of his daydream with a coy smile on his face. “Yeah Brand I’ve been listening to you spew media conspiracies for years now.” He looked at Brand. “No for real, you’re a lifesaver. It’s not going to be a problem, I’m in crunch time now. I’ve got two final projects plus I need to submit a draft of my graduation speech all in like twelve hours, midnight tonight,” He jingled the pills, “and these guys are going to turn that into at least three days' time. My salvation.”
Now here he sat in the campus library, prepared to finish a week of work in a single evening. He took one of the three pills out of the bag, and downed it with a swig of water. His father’s old advice echoed in his mind, “You can have it all, you just can’t have it all at once.” That had been the pertinent wisdom Cooper needed when he was striving to become a well rounded student, but as his priorities shifted towards late nights with his friends it became less relevant. The past few weeks would serve as a prime example that you can indeed have it all at once. Let the Kairos project stand as another example of technology's relentless progress against tired cliches.
There was no immediate effect as he put his head down and started working. He first focused on the speech he was to deliver at graduation. The words came easily, as they always did on a deadline, and soon he was flowing. As he was writing, he thought his speech was decent, relatively clever. He liked the language, had a subtle shoutout to his friends, and even included some bigger picture thoughts on society he thought some of the professors might like. Approaching the end, he wasn’t sure how to tie it all together. He racked his brain for something impactful, something lasting to close as he looked up from his work.
The library, while always a sanctuary of calm, seemed impossibly still. Pens did not move, pages did not turn. The world around him was frozen. No, frozen wasn’t right but close. The image of a glacier came to Cooper’s mind. Frozen, yet steadily crawling, gradually moving forward. He mused on this comparison as he checked the digital clock on his phone. He counted between the seconds to himself… one… two… at ten the second finally incremented. A hammering in his chest juxtaposed the tranquility of the library. The Kairos pill had elevated him to a plane of experience moving an order of magnitude faster than everyone around him. He had begun the wait.
Carefully, he stood at his desk. The student across from him gazed up at him with a sloth-like demeanor. Cooper watched the incredulity hatch from her eyes. So so slowly. He thought he could recognize each train of thought manifest in her expressions, as if reading her mind on her face. From her perspective, Cooper must’ve launched out of his seat with drastic urgency. To this poor girl, he would be moving as if someone had 10 x'ed his video playback speed.
Operating at such a rate of experience brought Cooper to a decision. He was caught in the effects of the drug. He took his mind off the girl, off his speech, packed his bag and left the library. He wasn’t going to waste this pace on an assignment. At this speed he should have more than enough time to get everything done, plus he still had two more pills. He wanted to roam campus, taking some time to absorb it as it really was while class was still in session and he was still a part of the community. Students watched Cooper stride with impossible speed from the library.
He stepped towards the middle of campus, embracing the warm springtime air. Trees in full blossom around him accentuated a sky blotted with red water color hues. It was difficult for Cooper not to be romantic about this place. His home for the last four years, he had a forward-looking sense of nostalgia, as if this would be the last time he’d be here just like this. He wished his friends were here to share it with him.
Embarking on his trip down memory lane, Cooper felt as if he had all the time in the world. He passed each of the dorms and apartments he’d lived in while on campus. He walked by his favorite restaurant, his favorite book store. He visited the football stadium and basketball arena. It was possible to cover a lot of ground when his stroll outpaced passing runners. He moseyed through academic buildings, reflecting on his classes and his accomplishments. His eyes shimmered with fondness as buildings and fountains evoked memory after memory.
He passed the bar he and his friends liked to frequent each night, and the scrappy food truck across the street that served the best drunk food. They’d probably be making their way down here soon. It saddened him that tonight he couldn’t experience it with them.
Continuing his journey, he felt delayed eyes follow him. Bystanders’ reactions were a mixture of confusion and awe, but always tardy. For many, this was likely their first experience seeing the product of the Kairos project in the wild. This gave Cooper an urge to show off, to put his elevated experience on display, to shatter any previously held concept of the perception of time.
He hauled through campus at super human speed. Wind coursed through his hair as if stuck out of a car window, but today he was carried by his own two feet. He did not stop to check pedestrians’ reactions.
This drug was incredible. With oil came renewables, with manual labor came automation, but never before had there been an alternative, sustainable supply of time. Cooper could understand why there was so much chaos surrounding its release, the pills would forever alter the human experience. Who could predict what would happen when this reached mass-adoption? Who can put a price on time?
Cooper came to the hill on the north side of campus which provided an ideal vantage point for the sunset. Only here could one view the expanse of university buildings, see the winding river, and still have a prime view of the sun as it dropped behind the treeline. He sat down and made sure to take a moment of reflection on his tour of the day, committing images to memory. He pondered his new thoughts on changing rates of experience. Sunsets, for example, were not in short supply, one available at the end of every day, but why watch one for mere minutes when you could have gorgeous views for days on end? Cooper felt in control of the crimson scene in front of him. At his rate, he could decide when he was finished watching the sun, it would not disappear behind the Earth’s curvature before he was ready. As of now it was just waiting, he was just waiting.
Just waiting.
Staring into the sun, Cooper realized he was entirely spent. He could sleep for days. Although just minutes had passed for everyone else, he’d spent hours traversing the campus grounds. Considering he had taken his first pill already in the evening, it was as if he had just pulled an all-nighter.
Not wanting to sleep outside and thinking of his two remaining pills, he came to a conclusion. If he took another pill to slow time, and then went to sleep, he could rest for hours and wake with plenty of time to spare. Worst case scenario, he’d set an alarm and take the last pill to even further preserve time. He was too enervated to look for another conclusion. This was a new world, time was in abundance. He took the second pill.
Taking a final look at the sunset, deciding it was sufficient, Cooper felt wistful and headed home.
Cooper woke to a slow, pulsing alarm. He checked the time.
11:46 pm.
Shit.
The alarm sounded so muted, so sluggish, he must’ve slept through it. He counted his own seconds against the clock’s seconds. The second hand darted forward between his four and five counts. He was still in the wait. At his current pace that left him… maybe an hour until the both his assignments were due. He wasn’t sure. He should’ve listened more closely to Brand’s advice. He knew he was coming down off the second dose.
He pulled out the last pill. He’d have to take it. He needed more time. He’d lose months if he failed to submit these projects tonight and couldn’t graduate. Despite facing unknowns, Cooper saw his decision as a trade of time. It was logical to him. Some more time right now at the expense of some in the future. Brand had told him to take it easy, but that wasn’t an option anymore. He swallowed the final pill with resolve, gathered his belongings, and hurried towards the library.
As he hustled, Cooper admonished himself for his decisions of the day. Why had he worked on the speech first? Why had he taken so long to frolic around campus? His series of bad choices had culminated in yet another, and now he was miles beyond the intended dosage of the drug.
Wait. Cooper took notice, his surroundings seemed to be entirely halted. He couldn’t detect any movement in a campus that was usually teeming with activity, even late at night. He checked his watch again, counting, wanting to know his rate.
One… two… three… he reached thirty without a second passing. Cooper’s time had seemingly no relation to the world around him.
Panic inundated him. Questions again filled his head. Was the third pill too much? When was he? How can someone else even perceive me? Then, Cooper felt the rush.
Incredibly physical at first, he was floored. Goosebumps flooded his skin. His heart plummeted. He felt the drug’s influence on his time as the moon turns the tide. High and low. In and out. Everywhere.
His mind raced, but lethargy filled his limbs. His pursuits were wasted.
He shivered as time returned to its familiar pace. Objects in his immediate environment darted around him. He might just have moments until he was days beyond where he was now. He focused on living.
“Breathe. You’re still here.”
Time marched onwards. People around him quickened. Moving fast. Too fast. Gentle breezes became roaring gusts. Abrupt change consumed and overwhelmed him. Faster. Faster. Faster. Light began peeking again in the sky. Sights of green smeared his perception.
He was hurled towards the future in a torrent. Hours raced by. He could not act, not even think. Instinct and reflex ruled him now.
Rushing rushing.
Reactions ages behind every movement.
Time pivoted around his axis, the world streaked by him. He was a statue, cresting in the accelerating movement all around him. Gradients of color blurred.
Day to night to day to night spiraled by him.
Needing to hold on to hold on to hold on but to what?
Nothing comprehensible but images, vague feelings. Crushing want of nostalgia. Rejected from the shared passage of time.
Flicker of campus around him. Flicker of an ambulance. Flicker of a hospital. Flicker. Flicker. Flashes of professors, of friends, of parents.
Condolence, empathy, compassion radiated throughout each scene. Everything at once. Compressed, permeated him. Reduced to melancholy reverie. Longed for more, longed for more, longed for more time. Longed for it all.
Rushing rushing rushing.
Hanging on in quiet desperation, Cooper wept the hours down his face, rendered a spectator of every moment, ephemeral and curt, as his youth danced past his field of vision.